The moment Julien Moreau stepped out of the Théâtre de la Ville, a cold winter breeze brushed his face—but the warmth in his chest didn't fade.
Applause still echoed faintly in his mind, vibrating deeper than any memory he could recall.
He tightened the scarf around his neck and let out a slow breath, watching it fog before him.
"You were incredible."
Julien turned.
Claire Sorel stood beside him, bundled in a thick coat, violin case slung over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold—or maybe from excitement.
"Thanks," he said, voice hoarse from emotions he hadn't yet named.
She smiled softly.
"You deserve it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Snowflakes danced in the light of the street lamps, settling gently on the cobblestones of Paris. It felt almost staged, like something out of a movie.
"I'm... glad you were there," Julien finally said, voice low.
Claire's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded.
"I'm glad too."
The moment stretched between them, fragile and uncertain, before a car horn broke the spell.
Jacques Chevalier pulled up in his sleek black sedan, rolling down the passenger window.
"Get in, you two! You're freezing your butts off!"
Laughing, they climbed in.
The ride back to TW Entertainment headquarters was a blur of congratulations and plans for the future.
"You don't even understand," Jacques said, voice booming through the car. "The calls are already coming in. Labels. Agencies. Journalists. Everyone wants a piece of you, Julien."
Julien leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a moment.
He should have felt triumphant.
Instead, he felt... wary.
He knew too well how easily admiration could twist into exploitation.
Claire must have sensed his hesitation because she reached out, briefly squeezing his hand.
"You'll be fine," she whispered.
And somehow, he believed her.
The next morning, TW's headquarters was electric.
Every hallway buzzed with rumors.
"Did you hear? Pierre's Snowman hit number one overnight!"
"Who is that composer again?"
"I heard Julien Moreau got three offers from major labels already!"
The air practically crackled with energy.
Julien walked through the building with Jacques at his side, attracting curious stares and murmured greetings.
It felt... strange.
Not unpleasant.
Not unwanted.
Just different.
When he stepped into the conference room, the entire A&R department was waiting.
Luc Morel, the new head of A&R, stood up and gave a small, respectful bow.
"Composer Moreau," he said, "we are honored to have you with us."
Julien blinked.
He hadn't expected such formality.
Jacques clapped him on the back. "Get used to it. You're not just 'some rookie' anymore."
The meeting began.
Over the next two hours, Julien was briefed on everything.
Sales numbers: through the roof.
Digital streams: record-breaking.
Critical reviews: overwhelmingly positive.
Snowman had not only topped French charts but was already gaining traction in other European markets.
There were offers, too.
A collaboration with internationally renowned soprano Élodie Martin.
An exclusive composing contract with Chanson Records, one of the biggest labels in Paris.
Invitations to music festivals across France, Belgium, and Switzerland.
Julien listened, took notes, asked questions—but all the while, a heavy weight settled in his chest.
This was everything he had dreamed of... wasn't it?
And yet...
He thought of the tiny studio he called home.
The late nights spent crafting melodies no one would ever hear.
The snow falling quietly as he built a snowman with Claire.
That was music, too.
Pure. Simple. Honest.
Not a business transaction. Not a marketing strategy.
Jacques must have noticed the change in Julien's expression because he leaned in close.
"You don't have to accept any of these offers," he murmured. "Remember: you have the power now. Not them."
It was a simple statement.
But it felt like the most important thing anyone had ever said to him.
Later that afternoon, Julien sat alone in his studio.
The place looked even smaller now, compared to the grand venues and luxurious offices he'd seen today.
But it was his.
Snowman still played softly from his computer speakers, looping over and over.
He stared at the screen without really seeing it.
What do I want?
The question gnawed at him.
In his previous life, he had chased opportunities blindly, desperate for validation, for approval.
And it had destroyed him.
This time, he needed to move differently.
Carefully. Intentionally.
He scribbled a list on a notepad.
Write music that matters.
Collaborate with artists who respect the craft.
Build a career based on passion, not pressure.
Protect the people he cared about.
He tapped the pen against his chin.
And slowly, a plan began to form.
That evening, Julien met with Jacques and Luc Morel in Jacques's office.
The city lights glittered beyond the massive windows, casting the room in a golden glow.
Jacques leaned forward, hands steepled.
"So, have you thought about it?"
Julien nodded.
"I'll collaborate selectively," he said. "No exclusive contracts. No creative control clauses. I want freedom."
Jacques grinned.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Luc Morel chuckled, flipping through a stack of papers.
"You're going to scare the labels. Good."
They finalized the immediate plans:
Release a special winter mini-album with TW, featuring Snowman and two new songs composed by Julien.
Reject all exclusive offers but remain open to one-time collaborations if the terms were fair.
Prepare a small, intimate concert in Paris to officially introduce Julien to the public.
It was bold.
It was risky.
But it was the right path.
And Julien felt lighter than he had in years.
After the meeting, Julien found Claire waiting in the lounge, flipping through a music magazine.
She looked up when he approached.
"Well?" she asked.
He smiled.
"I'm staying true to myself."
She beamed at him.
"Good. That's the only way your music will stay real."
They stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, before Claire spoke again.
"By the way... about the concert?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"You're performing with me, right?" she asked, almost shyly.
Julien chuckled.
"Wouldn't dream of doing it without you."
Claire's face lit up.
And just like that, the heavy future ahead didn't seem quite so daunting anymore.
Later that night, Julien walked home alone.
The streets of Paris shimmered under a fresh layer of snow, glowing softly under the streetlamps.
He took his time, hands deep in his pockets, breathing in the crisp, clean air.
This was it.
His second chance.
His new beginning.
And this time, he wasn't just surviving.
He was living.
With each step, a melody began to form in his mind—something new, something vibrant.
Julien smiled to himself.
The real journey was just beginning.
And the music?
The music would never stop.